


Blood Drunk

by rubyrosettared



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Gen, Series 2 finale one shot; post Box Tunnel Twenty.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrosettared/pseuds/rubyrosettared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the first Being Human UK fics i wrote.  Set during the events of the S2 finale 'All Gods Children', remember during the episode in the kitchen when we got to see that sudden flash of black in Mitchell's gaze when he's coming down from the blood-high of the Box Tunnel Massacre? This is my interpretation of what is going through Mitchell's mind at the time. It's been fiddled with and re-worked and therefore is slightly different to the version up at the other site. </p>
<p>All errors are my own and unintentional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Drunk

**Blood Drunk.**

Ah, the power of it, it’s the best feeling in the world.

It’s in me and it’s part of me now. I can feel their memories, I can taste their emotion. It’s all there, that final spurt of panic, that rush of pure adrenaline before inevitable death gives the blood just that little extra bit of a kick. It’s like that tiny punch of ‘wow’ when you down a particularly vicious shot that makes your eyes water and your nervous system flare and you feel, just for a second mind you, you feel that you can take on anything and everything and beat it. It’s just…like I said…it’s just the best feeling in the world.

Now imagine that feeling magnified ten, twenty even thirty times over and you might just begin to understand why it’s so hard to give up, harder still to turn your back on it.

As I get to my feet, I look around the clutter of my room. Daisy left, poor, insane Daisy bless her, rambling about rivers of blood, of fire and revenge. The sex was incredible. Overcome by the rush of what we’d done and the amazing high that accompanied it we barely made it into the house. How we got back without being noticed is a mystery in itself but she was pulling at the zipper of my jeans before we were half way up the stairs. I’m sure there are cracks left in the wall and that was even before we got into the bedroom. It was pure adult no holds barred primal lust. It’s her way to burn off the buzz and who was I to say no? Jesus, I’m beginning to feel hard again by just remembering. It was fast, it was brutal, and it was incredibly…sticky but God almighty the release was off the scale. For moments afterwards as I came back down, I was free, absolutely free.

Did the neighbours hear us? To be honest I don’t care but I hope that they did.

* * *

 

I watch the water swill down the plughole. It’s a muddy red colour when it disappears. I’m clean again on the outside. You’ll never guess what I’ve done unless you look closer, if you’re brave enough to look into my eyes and ask.

I watch the flames devour the blood soiled bedding, the crackle of flame and the curl of smoke drifting up into the breeze. I wait for the feelings of guilt and mortification to attack me in this quiet moment like they usually do but they must be hiding because I’m not feeling it yet. A voice at the very back of my mind tells me that I will, soon, but I ignore it, I shut it down.

My head is stuffed full and overwhelmed. I can still feel their blood gushing through me. The sheer power of it is intoxicating. I’ve turned my back on my own kind for so long. I’ve had lapses, I’ve fallen back into old friendships and then eventually into older habits. Well I’ve tried the human way and all it’s given me is pain, grief and heartbreak. It’s just easier for me to accept who I am and live with it. It’s harder to be human. I pretend I don’t hear the whispers at the back of my head, calling me a coward.

* * *

 

My head feels as heavy as a cannon ball when she appears in front of me.  I hear her, become aware of her and I lift my head. I should know her because she’s staring at me like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Shall I show her what I am? - does she already know? My head is so full;  a variety of thoughts do battle and there are no winners, just confusion, endless rambling confusion. My eyes slide shut as the weight overwhelms. I just want her to go away, back to wherever she came from...

“It’s the ghost” All of a sudden what she is drifts into my head. Did she do that? My eyes pop open again, I lift my head again and I look at her once more. She’s pretty, no, scratch that, she’s _beautiful_ but right now she’s looking at me with big suspicious brown eyes. I remember a chilly little kiss not too long ago, an accidental little peck. All of a sudden I want more. I tell her I want to know what surprises she’s hiding beneath that tight grey get up she’s wearing that she’s holding so protectively close. Is she a virgin? Is that it?  Oh I could soon change that. Purpose makes me begin to rise to my feet but she backs away and disappears through the kitchen doorway because there’s someone else in the house. Then I remember that because she’s a ghost, it doesn’t matter if she’s a virgin or not because there’s no way I’m getting my hands on her or what she has to offer and now we seem to have company.

_Fuck._

My head feels heavy again.

* * *

 

_He_ comes into the kitchen a minute or two later. He looks like he has a purpose in mind. Will he notice? Will he care? He takes one look at me and tells her that I’m drunk and I hear the disgust in his voice. Oh he has no idea of just how much. He hates it when I get drunk but not like this. He hasn’t seen me like this. I lift my head and watch him. Has he noticed my eyes yet? I want him to. I want him to know what it is that I’ve done. He does look and I notice his little frown, he’s not sure, he knows something has happened but maybe he just doesn’t have the courage to ask because he won’t like what he’ll hear.

_Blood, revenge, power, death and an adrenaline rush like you’ve never ever seen before._

It’s beginning to fade a little bit; it’s releasing its grip on me. Here it comes, the crash and after that comes the craving. That’s the part I hate, that I struggle with. I hate the _wanting_. I hate wanting something I should never have, that I have no right to take.  I tell him to leave, to take her and get out, and to stay out of the cities. I see his frown, his first inkling that something truly horrible has happened and that something worse is about to. It’s too much and I lower my head and I claw helplessly at the kitchen table surface. I can feel the guilt begin its ascendancy; I can hear the clamour of accusing voices rise up inside of me. Oh… _Jesus!_

I lift my head again when I hear the door slam shut. Silence greets me but it feels wrong. I get up and I run to my bedroom. I haul up the blind and I look out of the window as the car that holds them pulls away. She’s looking up at me, still scared, still worried. Is she worried about me? Please don’t be…please don’t worry about me.

_Annie_. That’s her name. I watch the car til it disappears from sight. I pull my head back in and I turn and I look at the pandemonium that’s my room. It’s untidy to begin with but right now it looks like hell’s army has been unleashed in here. And it has been, of a kind.

The whispers in my mind become more strident to be heard.

* * *

 

_Lucy_

I let her get to me. I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be anything but what I am and as I stand in front of her, my face smeared with the blood of her colleagues, I see the expression in her eyes. I was an experiment to her, part of a cause. I was nothing to her but that.

She has no idea what she’s unleashed.

She’s afraid when I grab her, when I tell her that I’m going to kill her. I don’t want her to be scared, I want her to be terrified, piss in her pants terrified. I’m anticipating the taste of her, the warmth of her blood sliding righteously down my throat; I want to revel in it. I don’t want to care; I don’t want to feel but then the pain starts. Its strength brings me to my knees, brings tears to my black eyes. It’s gripping, squeezing and tearing at me. What the hell is it? I can hear Lucy asking me what’s wrong but I have to get away, I need to go.

  _Annie…it’s to do with Annie._

I hear George screaming at me and the deep rage inside subsides enough for me to see what I’m doing. I’ve got Kemp by the throat. I’ve got hold of him and his feet are clear off the ground. He’s waiting for me to kill him, he’s clutching his precious bible like a talisman and he’s waiting for me to finish him. I hear George scream Annie’s name, not in Annie’s name, don’t do this in her name he’s telling me. I stare up at Kemp. I want his death, I want his suffering for all that he’s done, I want him to feel just a tiny piece of what’s happening to me. Fury makes me shake and then I feel George’s hand on my arm. I look at him. His eyes are tear filled and red but full of pleading. Not in Annie’s name…please God no. I look back at Kemp and I let go and watch him slump to the floor.

A white hot tempest boils over and erupts. It vomits out of me and I scream out my fury, my horror, my pain. Then it’s gone.

I have to face the fact that my Annie is gone too.

* * *

 

 

We’re in the middle of nowhere, the three of us. I look for her in every room. I expect her to appear, all smiles and comfort but she doesn’t. She’s gone, she’s not here. I shiver and George and Nina think that it’s from the unrelenting cold and damp conditions but only I know that it’s not. It’s withdrawal. I haven’t touched a drop of blood since that day. I crave it with everything that I am, I’m sick with wanting it, my stomach cramps with pain but I resist. I have to, in Annie’s name I have to resist. I listen to the radio news reports constantly and there’s only one story dominating the headlines. When the wanting gets too much, I listen to that. It keeps me on that narrow path.

Like a bad penny Lucy shows up again. I thought we’d hidden our tracks but obviously not well enough. I see her standing beside the car and I feel anger swell inside of me. Then briefly I feel that need to connect, I won’t call it love, it was never that, just pure need. I feel it now when I look into those eyes, into that traitorous face. I wanted her and I thought we could’ve had something but I remember and a barrier is thrown up. I can’t. I won’t. Despite that, I offer her refuge, even though she deserves every painful punishment imaginable, I offer her mercy.

I slip in her blood; I feel its warmth on my finger tips as I touch her face. It’s flowing freely and invitingly. There’s a hole in her chest and the coppery blood scent of it is almost my undoing. She’s accepting of her fate, seems to be welcoming it and I envy her the release. I feel her heartbeat stop, her body relax in death. I turn my head and look over my shoulder. There’s a door and I look down at Lucy again. I hear Nina exclaim and I look again and I see Annie. She grabs Kemp and she hauls him through that door and it’s gone. They’re both gone. I look up at George and he’s just as incredulous.

Annie saved us.

_We’ll get you back Annie._

She’s trying to be brave but she’s scared, I can see her fear. She’s careful, quiet and she asks if we’re okay. I miss her so much; it’s like a physical pain. She puts her hands out onto the television screen and we do the same, we want that connection, we want her back here with us, where she’s supposed to be.

Safe here with us.

_I’ll get you back._

**END.**

 


End file.
